Relief and Sighing
Tonight was the final show in the run of Guys and Dolls. I was so drained all day today. It's been such an oddly stressful few days. I have felt exhausted in every waking moment. Except for those in which I was too tired to take stock. I haven't been what I would call miserable. Not by any stretch. I've just been taxed. And I've had persistent headaches. And I have felt tired and listless. And I have noted that it sucks when you're not at least hungry. Because at least when you're hungry, you can eat something, and it's like you solved a problem. There's no solving feeling curiously not right.
Last night, I decided not to stick around for the strike party. I sort of wish I had worked up the willingness to stay. And not so much for the Italian food. Although, when I heard there were giant meatballs, I felt sad and deprived. I love meatballs. And I'm not trying to be cute. I really do love meatballs. And the really large ones are especially luxurious. In addition, I found out today that I missed being presented with the "Golden Note" Award, the orchestra recognition trophy that gets presented to one musician in each show this stage company does. I was so pleased to have received it. I wish I could have been there to hear what was said about me, but in a way I'm fine to have missed it. I might have been dashed if the conductor had said, "We're giving this thing to Mary in recognition of how far she had to drive to do the show." That's not quite the same compliment as, oh, say, "She played the fiddle real purdy." I'm happy about it, though. Either way. Because it's nice when people think enough of you to give you a trophy. No matter what it's for.
Plus, in the old days, I always used to prepare little song parodies and similar such cutenesses that made cast members say, "Yay! Orchestra strikes!" And this time, I didn't really have any wry wit to apply. The bugs weren't too bad. The climate was pretty consistent. We didn't get jacked out of parking. A pony didn't almost come careening into the pit. Not much fell on us. And nothing very important ever got screwed up. Which makes for pretty uninspiring parody fodder. But I may just be tapdancing around the fact that I spent the first two weeks of the production sick with a cold and this last week of it sick with ill-at-ease. And in the downtime, I began and finished The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time and found myself wishing I had made the book last longer. I then started into David Sedaris' latest release. And -- while EVERYONE surely knows by now how much I adore David Sedaris -- I was longing for a sustained narrative. And that's exactly what David Sedaris is the opposite of in the habit of writing. Also, humor suffers when you have to pick the book up and put it down at the whim of the dialogue. I just read when the lulls in score are long enough to allow it. And tonight being closing night, I decided not to bother. I wanted to soak in the show a bit. And my eyes were tired and sore. Anyway, I didn't have any strikes this time. So the absence of having something to contribute to the party made me less eager to hang around. All the same, I'm sorry I missed it. And I wish I had stuck around long enough to say goodbye to cast members I like but rarely get to see.
I went to the cinema today to see Anchorman. And I scribbled notes down while the previews played. This is what they looked like:
[About Cat Woman] Do you smell something? Oh, it's that new Cat Woman movie. Pee-yew.
[About Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle] Is this court-mandated multi-ethnicity? Neil Patrick Harris has hair plugs. This is just another in a string of films on that new theme of the ultra-mundane quest. Hm.
[About Taxi] It's Jimmy Fallon, but it should so be Will Smith. It's really just Jimmy Fallon doing a thin impression of Will Smith. And if it was Will Smith, I would even more fervently not go to see it.
[About Wimbledon] I love Paul Bettany. But I don't love Kirsten Dunst. And the two of them as a couple -- it's just too...blonde. They make me feel like I want to go put on some sunscreen. But then I don't want to bother, because they also make me feel like I already have skin cancer. But it is about time they made a big TENNIS movie.
[About Collateral] Jamie Foxx turned serious actor? Tom Cruise turned old?
I took some notes during Anchorman, too, but I didn't want to not pay attention. I just remember seeing the scene of Ron Burgundy's home with the brown Pontiac (I think) out front, and it made me think of all of those automobile ads I've torn out of Look Magazine. And it made me want to drink amber-colored liquor from a highball glass. With ice. And I also remember thinking that I heart Steve Carell in the way that makes it appropriate for me to use "heart" as a verb.
Anchorman was very funny. I could criticize the story, but I won't. I saw Christina Applegate on The Daily Show yesterday, and I made some snarky comment about how her trying to be funny was comedically cockblocking Jon Stewart, and Krissy said, "You hate women." And I thought, "Do I?" It can't be. It shouldn't be. I would be ashamed if that turned out to be true. But then today, during the movie, I realized that, by and large, I do hate women. And it's not very winning of me. But there are precious few of them who don't stick in my throat like so much alum. The ones I approve of get front-of-line privileges to be sure. But the rest of the lot make me cringe and wish I had been born a boy. And Brick was right. Their periods DO attract bears. If I ever amount to anything, it will always remain that I was pretty good FOR A GIRL. And that makes me want to open a can of something bad for me and eat the whole thing.
I had ten friends in the audience at tonight's show. I suppose that makes up somewhat for the number of nights when no one I knew showed up at all. Some people say they just love to play and that they don't care if anyone sees or hears it. Those people are liars. Playing "for yourself" is a crock invented by unpopular people. Anything you do that's good needs a witness. Preferably two. Otherwise, with no one to corroborate your claim that you knocked it out of the park, you become that guy who toots his own horn and mixes band and baseball metaphors.
Am I just TRYING to make this post long?
I want someone to offer to buy me a drink and to have it be for at least one of the right reasons. If it's for all of them, even better. But if it happens while I am at Comic-Con, it will be creepy, and I will pretend I never wanted it in the first place.
I never got anything particularly delicious or satisfying to eat today. I hate that. I wish someone would buy me a burrito. And I wish it would have extra sour cream in it. And also magic.
Labels: Comic-Con, Krissy